So Cold And Alone
by Lain of the Weird
Summary: A (hopefully) above average AU. Traditional pairings, non traditional circumstances. As promised, rating has increased for drug use.
1. Celebrating at Sinfully Delicious

A/N: Yep, don't own it. Not a bit. So sorry. You know I'd share if I did own them.

A/N 2: This is going to run a little differently from my other fics, mainly due to the extensive amounts of wansty character torture that is going to happen. So to keep things easy, the story is rated R, but each chapter will have its own rating.

Rating: PG-13. Why? You'll see….

This was, admittedly, not how he would have chosen to spend his eighteenth birthday. Drinking, partying, and oogling at the new strip club Sin-fully Delicious in the skeazier part of town. But then, he reflects, he had spent his eighteenth birthday on a boat crossing the ocean to confront the ruler of the New World Order – a group of fascist extremists determine to take over the world, led my a man-fiend calling himself Sin. But he had promised his teenage charge that he could celebrate how he wanted, and if the boy wanted to celebrate in a strip club named for the facist that had been responsible for the death of his father, well that was his prerogative.

So here he was, the famed General Auron, hunching over a tankard of cheap beer in a cheap strip joint, pointedly ignoring absolutely everything about his surroundings, while his charge rubs up against all sorts of humanity on the dance floor. He picks up the clouded glass tankard, and stares into the watered down amber depths. He sets it back down silently on the filthy counter top without tasting it. He absolutely detests beer, but this place didn't serve anything weaker, and if he ordered something stronger, he would be compelled to drink it so as to try and tone down the throbbing noise, and all together overly informative smells of too many horny humans in too small a space. But he shrugs it off, it was an important night to his charge. Though Tidus isn't technically his charge anymore, but the boy would still need looking after, and he had promised his father that he would keep an eye on the kid.

Out of the crowd bobsTidus' spikey blond head, and he stops in front of his adopted father, beaming his little boy smile at absolutely everyone, from a combination of a little too much alcohol, and the girls dangling off his arms. "Hey, Auron, me'n' these girls are gonna celebrate. I'll be home later, m'kay?" He disappears back into the crowd before the former General can question exactly what he's doing right now, if not celebrating.

"Is something wrong with your drink, sir?" The barmaid, who probably doubles as a prostitute at this fine establishment inquires, perching on the edge of the counter top. Auron could almost admire her bravery, he wouldn't have sat on such a vile surface if someone had offered him a sack of gil. But the woman doesn't even seem to notice that she's sitting on wood smeared with vomit, spoiled drink spills, and unknown bodily fluids. He places her at a little older than twenty, a fairly pretty twenty, with pale skin, long dark hair, and blood colored eyes. Her long fingers fidget with a string of big purple beads, drawing attention to her ample cleavage, enhanced by a fur trimmed leather bodice and short skirt made of belts.

Auron offers a noncommitical 'nnh'. Instead of going away, the woman leans a little closer, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "That would be your son who was with the ladies?"

He grunts again, which she takes for affirmative. The woman straightens up, pushing a handful of braids behind her shoulder. "Don't let him get emotionally involved with them. They belong to Crowe. And he doesn't share."

"He can look after himself." Auron replies drily. This, of course, is not even remotely true. Tidus couldn't take care of himself at all, but it was none of this nosy busybody's business in the first place.

"I hope your right then." She leaves at the beckoning of another customer wanting a refill on his drink, leaving Auron alone with his thoughts.

It is nearly two in the morning, ridiculously late, or ridiculously early, depending on how literal minded you are, when one of the girls who had been serving as accessories to Tidus pops up out of no where. The barmaid had referred to her as one of Crowe's girls, at least.

"Hiya!" She bounces on the balls of her feet, causing her breasts to jiggle around. Had it been a little less obvious, he would have been quite interested. "Tidus told me to find you. Make sure you're having a grand old time, and all that." She smiles sweetly, while delivering this announcement. "Hiya, Lulu!"

The barmaid raises a fine dark brow at the girl. "You should be working, Rikku."

The girl, Rikku, bounces again, grinning ear to ear. "I am, though!" She protests, thrusting her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. "I'm still being paid by that blond Tidus guy. Is he your son? Is he really the famous blitzball player?" Lulu doesn't seem fazed by the sudden change of topic, nor the barrage of questions now being pelted at Auron.

"Adopted."

"Ooooh." She plops down in the stool beside him, scooting it closer than is strictly necessary. "Are you having a good time, then? I'm supposed to make sure you do. Anything I can do to goodify your evening? Anything you want to do?" He was surprised. Somehow he had never believed that a hooker could say anything without adding at least a certain measure of innuendo. Her hand squeezes his knee. Oh. So his initial belief had probably been right, to at least some degree. He looks up and finds himself reflected in huge green eyes.

"I'm fine." He pointedly removes her hand from his knee, trying to ignore the protesting of his body. Despite the fact that she couldn't be more than sixteen, his hormones were shouting that he would be having a much better evening if she would come sit in his lap. He shakes his head and finally notices the small swirls in her eyes. The girl was Al Bhed. He didn't think any had survived the holocaust orchestrated by Sin.

"Oh. Aren't you supposed to be working tonight, Lu?"

"Our lovely manager gave me the night off." Both girls laugh at some hidden joke, which evidently is painful, leaving Auron quite thoroughly in the dark.

"Well... I guess I should go back then." She hovers for a moment, before disappearing again.

"Who was that?"

"Rikku." The woman, Lulu, frowns. She has a pretty frown, a pursing of dark plum lips, brow knotting thoughtfully. "But don't get attached, sir. She's a good girl, but she's a prostitute, and one of Crowe's." She swishes off again, before he can pose any questions that she doesn't want to answer.

It is dawn, and then some, when a slender brunette half walks, half carries the blond eighteen year old to the bar counter, where Auron is dozing, both eyes open. She smiles shyly at Lulu, and brushes her lips against Tidus' cheek. "Would you please tell him I wish him a happy birthday?" She asks shyly, twisting the material of her thin white shirt with her hands. Before he can reply, she darts off into the thinning crowd, and he loses sight of her almost instantly, though the floor is mostly empty by now.

Lulu stares at Auron, and the snoozing boy in his arms, before dipping into the front of her shirt, pulling out a bit of paper and a pen. She scribbles something on it, before handing the warmed paper over to Auron. "I'll probably see you or your boy around. Keep your eyes open." She stares down at her fingers, mangling a wash rag. "If something happens to either of my girls because of you, you will regret it." There's nothing threatening about the comment, and Auron refuses to be cowed as he totes the boy to his car, though he can feel the red eyes boring into the back of his head.


	2. Belated Birthday Presents

Disclaimer: Yeah. I still don't own anything. It sucks.

A/N: So yes. This is rated PG-13 or so. Nothing really happens, unless you like a little bit of Tuna stuff. Life is hard - but there's better stuff coming. I swear. Reviews are appreciated.

He was used to being the first person up in the morning. He wakes before the sun daily. It's nice, having a quiet suit of rooms to yourself, being able to spend a couple hours waking up and doing morningly things instead of trying to cram it all into a few minutes. He starts the coffee, showers, dresses, and other basic things, including practicing with his sword.

He settles himself into a pattern form, a complex and rather long series of attacking, blocking, and countering to keep the mind and body strong. Muscles cramped by sleeping in odd positions loosen up, and he increases the speed, dancing around the carefully arranged living room, dueling invisible enemies, and navigating around the furniture. He finishes with a slash, accidentally clipping a hank of blond hair from a very sleepy and now very alarmed Tidus.

"Heeeeey! Watch it!" They youth leaps back scowling with sleep bleared eyes. He sniffs once, twice, nose quivering rodent-like. "Ooooh! Coffee!" The perils of Auron's sword practice forgotten; the teenager launches himself at the appropriately dubbed 'Pot of Life'. He pours himself almost half a mug of coffee, before adding gratuitous amounts of milk and sugar to it. He then promptly disappears into the mug, leaving only blond spikes poking around the edge of the porcelain.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Auron asks dryly. It would amuse him greatly if his charge was proven to be hung-over from last night.

Sadly, at least for the older man, he wasn't. "Uh," a pause to resurface from the depths of his morning elixir and consider the question, "not as bad as I should be, actually." He slides onto the counter, banging bare heels against wood cupboards, staring into the depths of his coffee milk mix with the pure adoration of an addict. "So, what's the plan, Stan?"

Auron scowls and pours himself a cup of black coffee. Of all the asinine phrases coined by man kind, that particular one had to be the one he detested the most. He supposes he should be used to it, Jecht loved that phrase dearly, and perhaps it was fitting for his son to inherit the ability to drive Auron bat shit insane without even trying. Hell. "Thought we'd take a trip."

Tidus pulls himself away from the enticing flavors of his 'breakfast' to give Auron the most hang dog look he could muster at 7:28 am. "Awww, Auron. There's practice todayyyy." A death glare, courtesy of his foster father shuts him up fairly quickly. The older man crosses the room and places his katana on a heavy wooden rack.

Auron picks up his cup and takes a drink, more from a crippling caffeine addiction than any real need to wake up. "Penguins?" He frowns at the design painted on white porcelain. Maybe he didn't want to know. "I'll take you to practice after. It won't take long." Tidus grins and pumps his fist in the air, before dashing off to shower and put something more than a pair of flannel pants on. Auron rolls his eyes and pulls his long red coat on, sticking dark glasses on his nose.

By the time Tidus finally drags himself down to the garage attached to the apartment complex that he resided in; Auron has already finished the Besaid Globe, and has moved onto the Spiran Times, newspapers propped against the steering wheel. Tidus rolls his eyes, his mentor and foster father was /always/ reading, usually something dumb like biographies or newspapers. Yick. He navigates around the car to the passenger side. The door is locked however, and wrapping on the glass with his knuckles only causes Auron to start the car and roll it back a few inches. "Heeey!" He jumps back, before pulling the rear door open and climbing in, slamming the door behind him with more force than strictly necessary. "What's the big idea, anyways?"

Auron wordlessly hands him a traveling mug of coffee flavored cream and sugar, before pulling out of the garage. Seeing that his guardian looks like he would rather eat glass than hold a conversation, Tidus tries to amuse himself by peering through the tinted windows. For a while he tries to pick out familiar landmarks, but it's early, and his attention span is short, and before his tanned cheek hits the window he's asleep.

The sudden stillness and lack of engine noise is what rouses him. He sits up, trying to ignore the pain that results from sleeping against a window, impressed that he still holds the mug Auron gave him upright in very stiff fingers. "Uuhhhg." He yawns and stretches, knuckles thumping against the ceiling of the vehicle by accident. "Ow. Where are we?"

Auron doesn't bother answering, just gets out of the car and dragging Tidus out shortly afterwards. He forcibly drags the still mostly asleep, despite massive amounts of ingested caffeine, boy into the building, up a short flight of stairs, around a corner, down a flight of stairs, before shoving him into an elevator. Once the elevator stops moving, Auron continues propelling Tidus down a twisting hallway, before coming to stop in front of a door.

Tidus stops, rests his hands on his knees, and pants, "What the hell, Auron?" The older man doesn't bother to dignify such lousy acting with an answer, only tosses a small box wrapped in shiny red paper over. "Whoa…" Tidus rips the paper off, and opens a small brown box to reveal a small silvery key on a ring. "Wha? What's going on, old man?"

Behind his sunglasses, Auron rolls his good eye. "Open the door, boy."

"Oh. Okay!" The key fits into the lock smoothly, and a twist opens the door to reveal a simple, but nice bachelor's pad. "Holy mother of Yevon…" The boy breathes, stepping into the living area, looking around, dumbstruck.

"I don't believe Yevon would like you taking his mother's name in vain." Auron shrugs and passes over an envelope fat with papers. "A trust was left for you. This place is legally yours until you sell it now." He turns on his heel and walks out of the apartment, calling over his shoulder, "come down and get your stuff when you want it."

Tidus blinks and jogs after his foster father. "You mean…? You're crazy, Auron." Of all the weird birthday presents, an apartment purchased in the same damn complex they were already living in?

Auron ignores the comments. "Don't you have practice to be going to?"

Tidus grins genuinely, not his movie star trying-to-make-all-his-female-fans-have-a-stroke grin, but a real smile, and he steps forward to hug the man he had grown up knowing as dad, before thinking logically. He had never, ever, seen anyone get remotely touchy feely with the Legendary General. "Thanks, Auron." He dashes to his old room and grabs his blitzing gear before following Auron to where the car was parked outside.

Tidus vaults out of the car as Auron pulls up beside a small gym a few minutes later. "See ya, Auron." He trots into the gym, looking around the empty and somewhat dirty lobby expectantly.

A tanned face, crowned by a hair bearing a striking resemblance to orange soft serve ice cream bobs around at the far end. "Heeeey bruddah! Where you been, man?" Roughly 200 pounds of boisterous and enthusiastic blitzball player tackles Tidus, knocking him tail over ears onto the floor.

Tidus hits the floor and rolls, trying to cushion his equipment and face as much as possible. He scrambles up, brushing dust off his knees. "Hey, take it easy, Wakka! I was just getting something from Auron AND I'm still hung over from last night… sorta." He grins as Wakka raises a neon orange eyebrow. "Shut up. Just because I can't hold anything stronger than Sprite.."

"Ya, whatever, man. Ley's practice an' then you can spill all about that place, Sin-fully Delicious, ya?"

"Sure." And practice begins as normal.

It wasn't a bad practice, he enjoys Blitzball, he really does. Today he's just, distracted. Last night had been amazing, beyond amazing, and he had to go back again tonight. Maybe he'd even see the girl, Yuna again. Yeah, that would be nice.

Wakka doesn't even wait until he's out of the shower before the bombardment of questions begins. "So, how was it, bruddah?"

"How was what?"

"The club, man! Was it as good as we was told?"

Tidus pauses to consider and rub conditioner into his hair. "Hell yeah."

"Were the chicks hot?"

"Of course they were." He knows he has a sappy grin on his face now. He tries to wipe it off and fails rather miserably.

"Are they good?"

"Jeez, Wakka! I don't know! It's not like I sleep around and compare!"

"Chill, man. Just asking. So, you going again tonight?"

"Probably." And that is that. Damn, being an adult kicks ass. No more needing to check in with Auron before making plans. Yep, life is good.

"Heeeey, look man. That chick's staring at me, ya?" Wakka winks at the woman who sits at the bar with a younger girl, probably the only couple in the bar actually trying to hold a conversation and succeeding.

"Wakka, you have bright orange hair that almost fucking glows and does a weird swirly thing two feet above your head. I've known you for ever and I /still/ don't get how you do it. Of course she's going to stare." Tidus grins and punches his friend on the shoulder.

"Well then lets go say hey then, man." Wakka grabs Tidus' arm and drags him over to the bar. "Four beers, bruddah!" He shouts to the bartender, a capable looking man who probably doubles as a bouncer as the need arises.

Tidus is distracted be a pair of mismatched eyes staring at him around a pale woman with dark hair. "Yuna?" The black haired woman shifts slightly, allowing the two to see each other.

"Hello, Tidus." Yuna smiles, illuminating the entire room, at least in Tidus' vision. She pats the stool beside her. ""Come sit down, please?"

Tidus grins and glides onto the stool beside her, resting his feet on the legs of her stool. "Come on, Wakka. Pull up a chair." He accepts the beer from the bartender and sniffs, pulling a face at the stench.

Wakka laughs and plops onto his own stool, taking a pull of his own beer. "Aw, come on, man. Can't even smell the good stuff without getting squeamish?" He sets his glass down thoughtfully. "Though, course, if any beer could make my toss cookies, that shit sure could." He takes another gulp and grins appreciatively, determined to enjoy himself.

"Most people don't come here to drink." A voice like ice cuts into Wakka's good mood and crimson eyes flash at him.

"Ease up, sweet. No offence meant, ya?" He gestures at the bar tender to give the remaining beers to Tidus' friend and her fire eyed companion.

Yuna giggles and pokes her friend's shoulder. "I think he's hitting on you, Lulu." She lets out a most uncharacteristic cackle at Wakka's unsuppressed blush reflex.

The woman Lulu raises a feathery eyebrow, first at Yuna, then Wakka. "Cute, but superfluous." She takes a pull of her beer without flinching, then looks Wakka up and down, taking in gaudy yellow jumper, blue headband, carrot colored hair, tanned muscles and abashed brown eyes. "Though I'm not working right now."

"Great!" Wakka drains his beer and hops up, offering his hand to Lulu. "Would you dance with me, fine lady?"

"For ten dollars." Yuna blinks at her friend; they were supposed to charge more than that, a lot more. Lulu offering herself for so little, even for just a dance would probably prove to be a bad idea, later.

"Aw, you don't like me enough to dance for free?" Wakka teases, pulling out two crumpled fives and offering her his arm.

"Not yet." Lulu tucks the money into the front of her low cut shirt and accepts his arm with a smile, allowing herself to be led onto the dance floor.

Tidus watches his friend dance. Wakka isn't an amazing dancer on his own, but he is certainly eye catching, especially with an experienced partner. And Lulu was obviously a professional at the fine art of dancing, just a few steps down from foreplay. Someone pokes his ribs and he jumps, much to Yuna's amusement.

"They look good, don't they?"

He shrugs, "we could do better."

"You think so?"

"One way to find out."

It's later. Much later and the two boys are driving back home, slowly, and very carefully. Tidus is the first to break the silence. "So, d'j'a have fun?" He stifles a yawn.

"Ya, man." Wakka turns his face to the side, trying to hide the self satisfied grin of someone after a good lay.

"Say no more, no more." There is more silence, each man reflecting on his inner thoughts that only come during a brief time of being borderline tipsy. Neither speaking, but both understanding the other.

"But bruddah," this time Wakka breaks the silence. "Those girls, they deserve better. Ya, much better.

And Tidus can not find any argument with that.


	3. A Midnight Emergency

A/N: I'm not satisfied with this chapter by any means – but Biv's probably going to have a stroke if I don't update soon. So yes. Here it is.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything you recognize. I do, however, own the white mage nurse, who will have absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the story. Maybe.

ARARARAR

He's sitting at home on this balmy Friday night, reading Macbeth under the light of a softly glowing yellow lamp, some sort of classical music playing quietly in the background, as though afraid to distract the famed general from his reading. Not that he could claim to be particularly absorbed in the play, or Shakespeare for that matter. He was simply out of things to read, yet again, and Macbeth was something that, because he just didn't care about it, could always come back to and try to finish again.

The door knob rattles loudly, disturbing the tranquility of the scene, and then there's a flurry of fists against his door. "Auron? Auron!" Tidus' voice. _Damn it._ He shuts the book with a quiet snap, replaces it on the shelf, removes his reading glasses, and switches off the stereo, before opening the door.

Before him is Tidus, normally easy going expression twisted with, what, fear? Anxiety? He's holding his new girlfriend, the prostitute from the club under one arm, and she's white, trembling. He didn't need to be a medic to diagnose a panic attack. "Come in." He growls, enforcing his statement by tugging the two teens inside, slamming and locking the door behind them. He gently steers the girl into his recently vacated armchair, and with a scowl sends Tidus scurrying to reheat the lukewarm water on the stove for tea. With a deft movement, a wool blanket embroidered with a likeness of Shiva is settled around the girl's shoulders and Auron goes to relieve his adopted son of the culinary duties.

Tidus barely has time to settle himself on the arm of Yuna's chair before Auron appears, balancing three cups of tea on a rather plebian wooden tray. He sets it on the coffee table, and hands Yuna a brew of mint and hibiscus tea, flavored with honey. Tidus takes his own mug of black tea with extra sugar, and Auron settles back on the opposing love seat, sipping his plain green tea.

"What's the emergency?"

Tidus blinks, hit with the full force of his foster father's power. Even half awake, salt and pepper hair falling around his shoulders, dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt, the older man looks ready to do just about anything. "It's Yuna's cousin, Auron. She's in the hospital."

Yuna catches Auron's look, eyes steady despite the red puffiness from lack of sleep and crying. "Please, General. I'm sorry if I'm being too forward, but, please. Can you put my cousin up for a night, two at the most, until she's better?"

Auron raises an eyebrow. "That's a heavy request, Miss-"

"Please call me Yuna, Auron." She fishes something out from under her tight fitting shirt. She undoes the chain and passes a slender gold band over to him.

Auron would have had to be a blind man to not recognize Braska's wedding ring immediately. "Anything for my god daughter." He replies dryly, passing the ring back and standing, removing the half empty teacups and carrying them to the kitchen. He returns and tugs his long red coat on, snagging his keys off their hook, and walking out of the apartment, Tidus and Yuna trailing after him like ducklings.

The ER was better than many that Auron had seen before. Not that said very much. To be more concise: there were no rusty bloodstains on the rug of the waiting room, no live cockroaches being kept as pets by the secretaries, and no rats gnawing on those waiting. Not that there are many people waiting – only a middle aged woman reading an issue of Parents magazine in the corner.

He steps aside and allows Yuna to approach the nurse on duty. "We're here to see Rikku Cidison, please."

The nurse looks up from where she's hunched over a six month old Cosmo Girl. "Yuna Sarren?" At Yuna's nod, she favors the younger woman with a strained smile, one that quite clearly announced: My shift was over fifteen minutes ago so don't take it personally if I act like a raving bitch towards you, mkay? "She asked to see you when you arrived, but didn't mention anyone else. If you gentlemen will have a seat." The Cosmo hits the desk, and the woman's all business, escorting Yuna out of the waiting room, leaving an anxious Tidus and calm Auron behind.

The pretty brunette returns about five minutes later, skin paler, and bags beneath her eyes a little more pronounced. "She's stable." She replies quietly, sitting down beside Tidus and resting her head on his shoulder. "Minor concussion, two cracked ribs, and multiple abrasions, but she'll live."

Auron raises an eyebrow, but the Cosmo reading nurse walks up, cutting off whatever the older man had been about to say. "Miss Sarren, your cousin's free to go home now. Our white mage has set the ribs, and gotten a start on healing the cuts, and the concussion. However, don't let her move around too much, wake her up every hour, and try to keep her away from the … stairs." She hands over a clipboard which Yuna signs in neat tight penmanship, before marching off to whatever was next on her itinerary.

"Huh." Tidus stares after the retreating nurse, almond eyes narrowed. "So that's that, then? They just accept whatever story's told to them?"

Yuna nods, rubbing her eyelids with her fingertips. "They know just as well as you do what goes on around here. How can they not, they're locals after all." She smiles dryly. "As long as they write down what they're told, their hands are clean legally."

Auron shakes his head, the teenagers may have well been speaking a different dialect, for all that he could comprehend them. A blond girl in a wheel chair is being pushed towards them, waving energetically, even at two in the morning. At Yuna's happy expression, he assumes that this would be the battered cousin and stands, tucking his hands into coat sleeves and waiting. He quietly watches as Yuna dashes across to her cousin, dragging a dozy Tidus behind her.

"Yunnie!" The blond tries to jump up, but is restrained by a very capable looking white mage, who clamps her down to her wheel chair with hands the size of tennis rackets. "Does this mean I finally can leave?"

Yuna smiles, missing the weary grin that the white mage shoots at Tidus. "Yep! Come on, old lady." She smiles gratefully at the mage and takes over possession of the wheel chair, pushing it out to Auron's car, said owner of car following the trio.

"Shit!" Rikku hops out of her wheel chair at the sight of the very pretty black car. She grunts, ribs and head forcefully telling her that moving was a BAD idea right now. As though used to such antics, Tidus and Yuna step forward as one, snagging the younger girl around the waist and pulling her into an upright position.

With a lot of careful maneuvering, Rikku grumbling, and Tidus being clipped in the eye with an elbow, the trio manages to settle them in themselves in the backseat. Auron slips in and begins the long drive back to his apartment.

ARARARAR

When Auron cuts the engine, Tidus and Yuna scamper ahead to get the doors, not so discreetly leaving the older man to carry the 'invalid' up. He's getting to old for this shit. He silently grumbles for a few moments, before pulling the door open, and catching the girl who had been sleeping against the window. She doesn't stir, and he adjusts his grip on her, cradling her in his arms. There's a soft thud as he kicks the car door shut and walks into the lobby, blond girl held as though she weighed as much as a kitten.

He glares at the elevator waiting for him, as though it had personally offended him. Why exactly had he agreed to this in the first place? Apparently he was a bleeding heart. He shakes his head in disgust, adjusting his grip on the tiny Al Bhed as she snuggles closer to him. This… this had disaster written all over it.

Tidus offers him a guilty grin as he pulls the apartment door open, revealing a thoroughly embarrassed Yuna, balancing a tray of steaming mugs. "Th-thank you." Auron tries to harden his heart against his god daughter, but damn it, Braska had that same smile, one that was so sincere, so encompassing, that even his small nose had smiled. He shakes his head and offers a grunt of thanks, setting Rikku down on the couch.

The seventeen year old stirs at the sudden cold of suede against bare skin. She had been warm, safe. She blinks, opening her eyes and sitting up very slowly, propping herself against the arm of the couch. She hurts, but she'll live, and accepts a mug of cocoa from Yuna with a grateful smile.

Auron raises an eyebrow at Yuna. He didn't know he had cocoa powder in this place. "Will you be bringing her stuff over tomorrow?"

Yuna nods, setting the tray down and helping herself to a mug of something cinnamony. "Yes. Thank you again, Auron."

Rikku looks up, raising an eyebrow at her cousin. "My stuff, Yunnie?"

Yuna nods, with a radiant smile. "General Auron is willing to let you stay here until your ribs heal." _I wish you could stay here forever._ It's pointless to wish for something like that. Rikku wouldn't leave her or Lulu behind, despite the fact that the two elder girls were far more adapt at the line of work. Rikku could earn more money, and they all knew it.

Rikku drops her eyes and stares at the swirl of pinks and reds in her mug. Live here? Her cousin, her 'adopted' mother, they would be worked even harder than they already were. She couldn't go on a sabbatical, not even for two days. "Yuna!"

Yuna smirks at her cousin, and grabs her boyfriend's arm, "Tidus! You promised that I could watch you practice tomorrow! Let's go so you have something good to show me! ThankyousomuchAuronloveyouRikkubye!" She forcibly drags the blond out, shutting the door firmly behind her.


	4. Drugs are Bad For You

A/N: Finally caught my muse again. She is now being held in a maximum security cell under my bed. Hopefully she will learn not to repeat this through electroshock therapy. Well. Onward!

Disclaimer: Did you really think that I'd let you read without going through this nonsense first? For those of you reading this, there IS **Drug** USE in this chapter. I don't think it's horribly explicit, but then again I have been proven wrong before. And more warnings for Rikku acting pathetic. I also know next to nothing about concussions, fractures ribs, and injected drugs. All information here is purely made up. Oh, I also don't own anything. The idea for shooting up Cactaur fluids came from a story titled Son of Sin. It's very good. Also, if you object to reading shower scenes or descriptions of ladies underwear, leave now. Thank you and have a nice day.

A/N2: Thanks a million to who ever pointed out… something in the last chapter that was wonky between Auron and Yuna. Now that it's been pointed out, it shall be dealt with accordingly. And thanks to Biv and Ann, who I luff dearly. Again, many apologies for the massive ass draggage. I have a lot of new stuff to work with, so keep your eyes peeled.

000

Sunlight filtering through her eyelids tugs the sleeping teenager from the sweet kingdom of sleep with all the gentleness of a rhinoceros. _Shit._ She flails around in an attempt to disentangle her head from under the covers. Bad idea. She sits up slowly, resting cold hands against her head. She blinks slowly, eyes crossing and uncrossing before the room comes into some semblance of focus before staring around her new surroundings. They were… bleak to say the least. Four white walls, the monotony broken up only by a curtain less window, an unused desk, and a grey metal filing cabinet. Stark would be an understatement. She sits up, ignoring the flashes of pain traveling along her temples and sides. Maybe the whole, if you ignore something it will go away approach would work. Somehow she wasn't so sure about that. Well, one way or another, if she didn't find some sort of magic cure all ouches soon, she would be shit on tonight.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, biting down on her lip to keep from whimpering. "Come on, girl! There's only eight measly feet separating you from the door. Please don't wimp out on me…" She hisses to herself, trying to get some cooperation from her less than responsive feet. Her golden brows knot with concentration, and she manages a step. Then another one. After a few minutes of intensive labor, she makes it to the door when a tsunami of nausea hits her, knees giving out like overcooked spaghetti. The door begins opening, and she rolls off to the side, sides shrieking with agony. The last of her strength gives out and she dry heaves, arms crossed pitifully across her stomach, as though she can hold the tumultuous organ in place. Through eyes blurred by tears she manages to make out a pair of rather scuffed boots that she's retching air onto. _If I had eaten anything last night, this would have been really freaking gross._ But she hadn't eaten, she never ate right before a big dose, because those induced vomiting anyway.

Eventually the heaves lessen in intensity, leaving her gasping for air like a beached fish, and looks around the room, finding the sunlight filtering through the glass to be the crisp yellow light of noon. Christ, it had almost been two days. She'd break soon. She shivers, fear and anticipation warring for control of her emotions.

Auron looks down at the blond girl vomiting air onto his boots. He shakes his head and sets the three small bags down inside the door frame. He wasn't at all a sympathetic person by nature, or even circumstance, assuming he could help it, but there is something distinctly heart wrenching about the teenager's dry heaves. Knees only protesting slightly, he squats in front of the young woman, pulling a green and brown flask from his belt, and passes it to her. It wasn't that he pitied her, he reassures himself. He wasn't the type to offer pity, and she would get angry if he showed any, but he can almost feel a sense of camaraderie with her. He was no stranger to painful illnesses which forced you to spend weeks at a time lying in a bed or relatively flat surface as you vomit regularly for all of those weeks, spewing blood and air when there's not even any acid left in your guts. His good eye, the one left whole after a run in with several long pieces of shrapnel glares at the girl. "Drink it."

She obeys, struggling with the weight of the vessel. He was a man, an older and stronger one at that. Years of training has made obedience almost an integrated part of who she is. Almost. But she obeys, twisting the fat cork out of the mouth, and taking a shallow sip, should the contents prove to be vile tasting. Cool water laced with mint and lavender flows down her throat, healing as it sooths her strained throat and belly. She replaces the cork, strength flowing back into her gradually, and wipes her mouth. "Thank you sir."

The older man accepts his jug back and sticks it onto his belt. He stands, knees creaking with protest and nods at the small heap of belongings. "Your cousin brought these over this morning. Rather, this afternoon. Shower's right across the hall."

Her eyes are glued to the back of his coat as he makes his way down to the closet, and pulls the thick crimson fabric off, revealing sinew and muscle squirming beneath unblemished skin the color of caramel. Had the temperature just spiked? She runs her fingers through her disgusting hair, realizing with a blush that she's staring. _Like I want to eat him or something._ She shakes her head at her stupidity and picks up one of the bags Yunie had packed for her. How much of a nymphomaniac was she, if after being fucked by grey haired strangers, she could feel turned on by her cousin's godfather?

She grabs one of the bags, not even bothering to check the contents. Why bother spreading what little crap she had all over the place when she was leaving today? Rikku staggers across the hall and into the well lit bathroom, leaning against the door to make it shut, fingers scrambling on the locking mechanism. She slides slowly to the floor, over active imagination supplying, what she considered, an appropriate 'plop' sound as her bum hits the cold tiles. She leans back, tilting her head against the painted wood, staring dreamily at the light fixtures. She shakes her head agin, clutching at her temples. Damn it, she needs to stop that. "Oh-kay." She stands slowly, leaning against the door frame for support, trying to combat the nearly overwhelming vertigo that temporarily darkens her sight. A glance into the mirror reveals a less than pretty picture: black eye, split eyebrow, bitten lip, bruise marks darkening her hairline and throat. _Sweet gods, I look like Mrs. Frankenstein._ She grimaces and tugs off the faded tee shirt and sweatpants that the hospital had given her. Her working clothes had been tossed, shirt and skirt blood stained, and then surgically cut off by well meaning paramedics. After fumbling around with the dial on the shower, she steps under the spray, forcing her eyes away from the rest of her body. She didn't even want to know what the rest of her looked like.

The shampoo smells nice as she rubs the gel between her hands and then works it into her hair. Soapy and antiseptic, but tinged with ginger and nutmeg smells. A warm feeling, comforting even as it stings her scalp and back. She just stands there for a little while, letting the pounding water wash the remaining blood and dirt away, browny red liquid gurgling down the drain, as spray drips off her eye lashes, and dribbles down her sides.

Eventually she cuts the flow of water off, shivering slightly, and wrings her hair out over the tub, determined to make as little mess as possible while she's living here. She spies a stack of clean white towels and wraps one around herself, securing it under her armpits, before rifling through her bag, pulling out deodorant, tooth brush, and a comb. She rechecks the knot in her towel, before setting herself to the task of smoothing out the yellow rat's nest on the top of her head.

Unable to find a hair tie, she just leaves her now limp, though completely untangled hair dribbling droplets in between her shoulder blades, and pulls on a clean pair of white cotton underwear and a camisole with a yellow duck pattern. She smoothes the wrinkled cotton over her stomach affectionately. The shirt, or technically undershirt, had been a Christmas present from her 'mother' Lulu. Apparently, the shirt had originally been sold with a matching thong, but none of the women, least of all Rikku, would wear a thong outside of work. She personally didn't wear a thong _while_ she was working. Anal floss was simply too… garish for the types of customers who usually paid for her, apparently she catered to those who liked very young looking girls in Hello Kitty panties. Perverts. She then tugs on a pair of forest green sweat pants, her own this time, and is about to unlock the door and leave when something feather light thumps against her leg inside the pant's pockets.

Her inquisitive fingers brush against a tiny paper package, and she pulls the stamp sized envelope out, flicking it open with a well bitten finger nail. Nearly one hundred glittery needles meet her eyes, widened with shock. A clandestine supply of Cactaur needles, the drug keeping her hooked, literally and figuratively, to her pimp.

Rikku stares dumbly at the small sharps for a long time, common sense writhing against the pull of the addiction, the remnants of the toxic twisting her brain around, begging for more. She hates this, loathes the constant wheedling of another thing in her brain, attempting to dictate her actions. She clamps her eyes shut, a final attempt to see no evil, before completely and totally surrendering to chemistry's needs. _Resistance is futile, right? _She blindly pulls out a needle, the packet fluttering onto the tiles, and makes a fist, stretching her arm out in front of her, before stabbing the piece of organic metal into her arm. The motion is so rote by now that she doesn't even need to look for a vein, and the pinch of the metalloid entering flesh doesn't even register along her relaxed nerves. The tidal wave of nausea sure as hell does though, and she leans over the toilet, puking up the water her benefactor had given her a short while ago. She feels irrationally guilty, but her brain fogs up, drowning her in artificial delirium. That was the great thing about shooting up Cactaur, you lost complete control of your thoughts, but your body could still function fairly normally, assuming that you overlooked the fact that each injection shaved a handful of hours off you life.

The drugged girl lets out a heady giggle, before crumpling boneless onto the once cleaned tiles, curling up on her side as her brain begins methodically shutting down.

000

Auron ignores tingling feeling of someone staring at him, and heaves a silent sigh of relief as the bathroom door shuts. That had been awkward, and he briefly wonders how the hell he's going to get through the next couple of days sharing his apartment with a teenager hooker. Not that he wanted a friend of his rediscovered god daughter's to be a hooker, but hell. Thinking circles was only going to make him more tired. So he switches to something productive: the making to breakfast.

It wasn't that he was a bad cook, what he could cook always was, in his opinion, eatable. In fact, as long as you ignore the fact that he can only cook a handful of different things – he was pretty good. But his options for breakfast, or even lunch, were fairly limited if one didn't want something from a can heated – either sandwiches or French toast.

After a brief excursion into his refrigerator, he discovers that someone, probably his blond adopted son, had finished off both the mayonnaise, cold cuts, and just about every other sandwich-y thing, except the bread. That left him with exactly one option: French toast. He settles into the familiar rhythm easily, beating the eggs and milk into the dip, adding a rather large dash of cinnamon and ginger, before beginning the meditative exercise of frying the dipped bread until it turns golden brown, slightly burnt along the edges. He flips the finished piece of toast onto a plate, and sets it into the oven to keep warm, and lets the peace of cooking breakfast alone on a Sunday afternoon massage his conscious. The silence tempered by the sound of water running in the apartment causes him to raise an eyebrow, a clumsy motion on him, but one he had forced himself to master by sheer force of will. Some mornings it was the only proof he had that the muscles on the right side of his face were still mobile. But the water does shut off fairly promptly, the fading sound echoing slightly in the apartment, a change from the typically all encompassing silence that rings in his ears. He shrugs it off casually, and pulls the stack of morning papers on the counter a little closer to him.

Thirty minutes, three articles, and two cups of coffee later, Auron makes an official decision that his guest was simply taking far too long in his bathroom. Under no condition should it take thirty minutes to dress and tie your hair back, he could manage it in five. He knocks loudly. No response. He knocks again, the wood vibrating with the force, the rapping echoing through the apartment. This time he waits until the count of ten before setting his shoulder to the door and giving it a good shove. The shoddy lock gives way meekly, revealing an empty eyed girl giggling to herself in between sporadic spasms of dry heaving.

Auron's years of military training kick in along with the adrenaline, trampling down the carefully cultivated civilian mindset he had spent years trying to build and maintain. _Analyze the situation._ Unfocused eyes, delirium, catatonic, dry vomiting. Drug overdose. He begins searching the bathroom carefully, blocking out the breathy giggles , and spots the paper pack on the ground. He carries it over to the sink, opening the seal, hard face contorting with disgust. He had seen these drugs before during the war, used both as a relaxant, pain reliever, and date rape drug. He pulls a random needle out carefully, snapping it over the basin with one fluid motion, and holding the freshly broken end up to the light.

The light from the ceiling filters through the blackish green toxin on the tip, and he curses vividly. Either someone doesn't like his new charge very much, or her dealer is a cheap piece of shit. Why else would a teenage girl be shooting up with a fragment of a King Cactaur needle? He had come across the scamming process a couple times before. King Cactaurs were, of course, much harder to kill than the normal fiends, but they brought in much more profit, much more quickly. A single King Cactaur needle could be cut to mimic regular Cactaur needles, easily making the dealer one thousand times what he might make in a week from a single kill. Jecht had experienced the same god damned thing during a mission.

He flushes the package down the toilet, before scooping the corpse like girl up in his arms and carrying her into his room, where all the medicines were kept. He sets her down on top of his bed, and pulls a small padlocked chest out from a hidden recess in his closet. It's the work of a minute to lose the locks, and he pulls out a vial of electric blue fluid and a flask of the same herbal tincture that he carried with him at all times. The seal on the blue liquid pops off with a smooth twist, and he sniffs it carefully, fetid medications could be more fatal than any OD, but the tangy scent of lemon and kiwi reassures him of the cure's potency. He holds the girl up, slipping the opening of the container between blue lips, and tilts it, letting the medicine trickle slowly into her belly, giving her time to swallow. The elixir is followed by a long draught of the herbal water, diluting the potent drug, making it easier to stay down. The blonde girl relaxes, eyes sliding shut, as she falls into a healing sleep.

The older man stares down at the Al Bhed and wonders exactly when did life get so complicated?


End file.
